


Pretty, Witty, And Gay

by TheBeastofBurton



Series: La même histoire [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Humor, Multi, Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-08 17:04:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4313208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBeastofBurton/pseuds/TheBeastofBurton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or: How Evelyn Trevelyan Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Inquisition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sera

**Chapter 1: Sera**

            As a woman of means, there were a number of places Evelyn Trevelyan might have anticipated being on the eve of her twenty-third name day.  Chasing after the colorful girls of Val Royeaux, carving her way through the Hinterlands with a rough and tumble company of mercenaries, Maker, even studying to be the Good Little Chantry Sister her parents had always hoped for.

            She did not foresee being huddled in the dark corner of a merchant barge’s hold, praying for death as the waves kilted up and down in sickening syncopation with the pounding of her head.

            It was all unbelievable.  She literally _could not believe_ that the last two months had actually transpired the way they had.  Only the faint, dull buzz of magic scratching across the palm of her hand prevented her drifting into blissful ignorance of her new fate.

            The Divine was dead in a massacre that had stolen the lives of thousands.  She was being touted as the bloody Herald of Andraste, focal point of a new Inquisition devoted to restoring order to the Andrastian world.   The Chantry itself lay in shambles, hurling about words like ‘false prophet’ and ‘heretic’ when she convinced her advisers just to _try_ and help them.

            It was too much to even attempt to process.

            When the door to the cramped room creaked open, she raised her head and looked up blearily.  It was hard not to retch at the rush of smoldering tallow and dank that flooded forward on the air.  The door creaked shut again as her eyes came into focus.

            “You look like shite, _Lady_ Herald,” Sera snorted, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning against the wood.

            “Oh, don’t you start with that nonsense, too,” Evelyn groaned, grinding the heels of her hands into her eyes.  “I beg of you, just call me Trevelyan.  Or Evelyn, if you want.”

            “Poncey names, the both of ‘em.”  Sera started pacing around the cabin, glancing about at the plain, splintered walls.  “You could be an Evie, though.  That’s not too high and mighty.”

            Evelyn almost smiled at that.  No one had called her Evie since her darling little brother had been whisked off to the Circle in the dead of night.  Maker only knows where he’d ended up in all the chaos as of late.

            “Are you having trouble adjusting to the ship as well?” she managed to ask in what she hoped was a conversational tone.  “Cassandra assured me that this sort of weather doesn’t usually affect the passage out of Val Royeaux, but here we are.  I’m told it’s only a day or two ‘til we make land again, though.”

            “Don’t like ships,” Sera bit out, turning on her heel at the edge of the room.  “Dark and dull and boxed in.  Too slow.  Too much time to think.  Need a distraction.”  She stopped abruptly, looking down at Evelyn as if it were the first time she’d noticed someone else in the room.

            “You’ve a pretty way about you, for a noble tosser.”

            “I...thank you?”  Evelyn wasn’t quite sure how to respond to the sudden statement, especially when Sera started walking towards her with a touch more swing in her hips than one might expect.

            “You've had your eye on me, right?”  She stopped directly in front of Evelyn, cocking her head thoughtfully.  “Know I caught you sneaking a peak at least couple of times already.”

            Evelyn blanched with embarrassment.  “I didn’t!  I mean, I...I,” she broke off with a weary sigh when Sera smirked in triumph.  “Alright, _fine_.  So I looked a bit.  You’re rather attractive.”

            “Ha!  Knew you fancied me.”  Sera leaned forward slightly, affording Evelyn a rather inescapable eyeful of cleavage.  She grasped both of Evelyn’s wrists, pulling her to stand unsteadily before running her hands up over Evelyn’s arms.  “You’re not so bad looking yourself, you know.  Nice eyes, pretty mouth.  All that _muscle_.”

            Though she would deny it for years to come, Evelyn was fairly certain that she squeaked when her back made contact with the wall and small, slight Sera looked up at her with sharp eyes and a wicked grin.

            “Wanna get a leg over then, yeah?”

            “I’m sorry, _what_?”  Bloody Fereldens and their indecipherable idioms.  Sera just laughed, head tipped back as she started to tug at the lacing of Evelyn’s tunic.

            “Shagging, you tit.  Getting your end away.  Having it off.”  With a yank, Evelyn found herself stooping over with Sera’s teeth against her ear.

            “Do.  You want.  To fuck?”

            There was sugar on her breath, the smell of sweat and smoke on her skin, and Evelyn could barely keep her knees from buckling under the advance.  Hands started smoothing down over her sides, dragging her loosened tunic open over her shoulder.  A low, appreciative growl in her ear and she was _lost_.

            “Yes or no, luv,” Sera said as she started to toy with the fasteners of Evelyn’s breeches.  “Not something to nick, this.”

            “Yes,” Evelyn hissed through her teeth, whimpering at the sharp, wet heat of Sera’s mouth on her neck.

            “Wicked.”  With a jerk, Evelyn’s shirt was loosed and those hands were skating up her bare skin, nails scraping down over her breasts.  “Glad you’re not still in all that ruddy armor.”

            “Well, being thrown off the boat sinking to the bottom of the sea was a decided risk when I was dressing this morning, so I figured why bother?” Evelyn quipped, breath hitching when the last button of her breeches came undone and the hands slid over her hips beneath the fabric.  Sera laughed, her breath hot against Evelyn’s collar bone.

            More movement, a leg kicking open her own, wool rasping down over her skin.  The air was a shock of cold and damp, the wall against her backside even more so.  Evelyn leaned her head down, catching a lungful of the warm, thick smell of Sera’s hair before nudging her head back.  Sera glanced up, puzzled, eyes widening almost comically when Evelyn lurched forward and kissed her _hard_.  For a moment she tensed at the contact, as if it was unexpected, before responding with such fervor that the back of Evelyn’s head was forced against the wood with a dull _crack_.

            In the same moment she licked into Evelyn’s mouth, fingertips slipped over the wet skin between her legs.  Evelyn groaned aloud, knock-kneed and weak at the touch.  It took embarrassingly little, the grind of Sera’s palm, the slick stretch around her fingers, the pressure of her teeth around Evelyn’s bottom lip and the world started to go black around the edges.  One last, vicious push and she fell apart with a shout, sparks in her blood and lead in her legs.

            “That didn’t take much,” Sera grinned against her lips as Evelyn melted back into the wall.  “You sure know how to flatter a girl, Lady Herald.”

            “Don’t call me that,” Evelyn said through desperate gulps of stale air, waiting for her vision to refocus before reaching out and grasping Sera by the arms, lifting her bodily off the ground.  Sera drew in a sharp breath, partway between a gasp and a laugh as Evelyn tossed her down on the narrow bunk in the corner of the room.

            “Let’s see what those big, muscle-y arms can do, then,” she challenged with a smirk as Evelyn swung a leg over her hips and leaned down.

***

            “ _Wow_.”

            “Bloody right, wow,” Evelyn panted, rolling on to her back with a decided lack of grace.  The thin blanket was terribly scratchy against her bare skin and the strip of her side pressed to the wall was already beginning to chill, but she was far beyond the point of caring.  She was damp and sticky and more relaxed than she had been since her life had taken a right turn into the completely insane at the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

            “Who knew rich prats had moves, too?” Sera laughed to herself, twisting slightly to press her lips to Evelyn’s cheek noisily before rolling on to her feet.  Evelyn worked on regaining her breath as she watched Sera redress.

            “So,” she started uneasily.  “I don’t want to be _that_ girl, but I feel like I need a little...clarification after that.”

            “What’s murky?” Sera asked.  “We’re mates.  We frigged.  Wasn’t half bad.”

            “Flattering.”  Evelyn shifted back to staring at the ceiling, still enjoying the warm, loose humming under her skin.  “I have to say I don’t do _that_ with most of my mates, though.”

            “Missing out then, luv.”  Sera flashed a toothy smile at her before plopping down on the edge of the bunk to lace up her boots.  “Storm’s done.  Finally get out for some air, shoot some stuff.  Birds, right?  Or maybe fish.  Think Varric has some twine?”

            She hopped up to her feet, stretching her arms over her head until her shoulders cracked, twisting half around to fix Evelyn with a look.  “Gonna lie about all day? Things to do, places to go!”

            “I’ll be along.  Go find your twine,” Evelyn chuckled.

            “Suit yourself.”  Sera leaned over, thumbing over a purple bruise at the base of Evelyn’s neck with a proud leer.  “Thanks for the fun, Evie.  Have to do this again sometime.”

            She winked and bounced out of the cabin, and Evelyn wondered if there was a way her life could get any stranger.

 


	2. Cassandra

**Chapter 2: Cassandra**

            “Again.”

            Evelyn lunged forward, aiming her shoulder for the soft hollow beneath the chest.  She was met only with a wall of muscle beneath the thin sparring armor, crying out when motion ground the joint into itself.  In an impossible flurry of movement she found herself twisted down into the dirt with a pair of ankles laced across her chest, her elbow hyper-extended over the jut of another hip.

            “Maker, Maker, _stop_!” she howled, vision bleeding red around the edges.  The pressure rending her arm asunder abated as quickly as it started, one of the heels digging painfully into her skin before being pulled away.

            “Get up,” Cassandra snapped, brushing herself off as she stood.  “We’re going again.”

            Evelyn groaned, head dropping hard against the ground.  “Maferath’s balls, Cassandra; I’m  _done_ already.”

            “You are done when I say you are done, soldier.”  The toe of Cassandra’s boot bit into Evelyn’s side, a sharp, steady pressure urging her to sit up.  With a growl Evelyn hauled herself to her knees, wincing at the gravel grinding into the raw skin.

            “Like it or not, you are the face of this Inquisition and you _will_ represent us with the dignity becoming of a true warrior.  Even if your backwater excuse for nobility failed to train you to be one in any sense of the word.”

            “Tell me how you really feel,” Evelyn drawled sarcastically, leaning on the edges of her accent in the way she knew irritated Cassandra.

            “You couldn’t even _begin_ to handle how I really feel.”  A hand wrapped around the back of the stiff collar of Evelyn’s padded jerkin, yanking back hard until the front end tightened around her throat.  She lurched backwards with a strangled sound, finding herself pressed bodily against Cassandra before being shoved forward again.

            “Now turn around and fight me.”

            Evelyn was exhausted and aching and so fucking _angry_ ; at her life, at the Maker, at Cassandra and her unbearable, unreachable standards that something finally snapped.  She twisted and dropped down to a knee, bracing on her hands to sweep her other leg around behind her.  It was enough to catch Cassandra by surprise.

            She had to scramble to maintain her advantage, but Evelyn managed to hurl herself forward as Cassandra hit the dirt, landing half on-top of her.  One more push and she was sitting squarely on her chest, leaning her weight down on the forearm barred across Cassandra’s neck with what Evelyn thought was an entirely deserved sneer.

            “My bout at last, Seeker?” she asked sweetly.

            The response was as swift as it was brutal.

            The sinking realization that she had not centered her weight bled into the flash of a wild, _primal_ fear in Cassandra’s eyes before Evelyn found herself airborne.  She skidded back against the ground, head cracking solidly against a support post before she was pinned once again.

            The weight was immediate and immovable, centered down over her hips.  Her legs held down in useless positions, heels scraping impotently in dirt.  When she bucked the weight only managed to increase, forcing the air from her lungs and somehow twisting her wrist into complete _agony_.  She couldn’t think through pain, the through smell of heat and leather and exertion choking down around her.  In a hopeless gambit she canted her hips upward one last time, strained her neck and opened her mouth.  It filled with the taste of leather and grit and she bit down _hard_.

            Cassandra snarled wordlessly beside her ear, pushing down harder.  She made the slightest shift, down and in, and there was a mind-numbing rush of _friction_ between Evelyn’s legs.  She rolled up into it with a growl before she could summon the thought to do anything else.

            When she realized what had happened she wrenched open her eyes and tried frantically to push away, but there was no escaping the pin.  Cassandra loomed over her still, her body a wall of faceless dark and muscle and _rage_ , her breathing damp and harsh and _smug_ against Evelyn’s ear.  In a flare of her own anger, Evelyn decided to fight fire with fire.

            She anchored one of her heels, leaned what little weight she could manipulate down and jerked her knee up.  Cassandra’s gasp was utterly vindicating.

            It remained a contest between them, a show of domination and _violence_.  Evelyn tightened her teeth around the corner of armor, grunting when it was yanked away and replaced by the flat of the pauldron slamming into her nose.  It bloodied quickly, smearing down into her mouth with every movement. She ground her teeth together and bucked back against the ground, swallowed up by the salt and copper and lust lying thick across her tongue.

            She was completely overwhelmed by it all.  The taste, the smell, the creak of leather grating back and forth across the dirt, the heat, the suffocating pressure, the rough whisper of Nevarran curses beneath the ragged breathing in her ear.  She was beyond thought, beyond breath, beyond anything but the compulsion to keep moving and then she was _there_.

            Cassandra made a high, choked noise above her, arms shaking the movement finally came to a halt.  They lay there for a long moment, dazed, until she sat back on her heels and dragged Evelyn up by her collar.

            “If you speak a _word_ of this to anyone, I will cut out your tongue and feed it to you.  Do I make myself clear?”

            “Crystal,” Evelyn assured hoarsely, yelping out when Cassandra shoved her head back against the ground and stood up.  She almost wanted at the visible shift back to the behavior of a dignified officer, straightening her jerkin and brushing the dust from her body like she would have after any other sparring session.  Evelyn opened her mouth to speak without thinking.

            “Do you want to go get a drink or something?”

            “ _What_?” Cassandra whipped around looking something between deeply outraged and impossibly confused.

            “I know, I know,” Evelyn groaned as she pushed herself to sitting against the support post, wiping the back of her hand through the sticky bloody drying beneath her nose.  “But, like it or not, you’re one of my strongest advisers in all this Breach nonsense.   We’re going to be spending a good deal of time working together, and if we don’t at least _try_ to learn how to be civil to one another there’s a good chance this,” she motioned between them, “could happen again sometime when there are more people around.  Wouldn’t want to lose Cullen to a fit of the vapors, now, would we?”

            “Well, I,” Cassandra stammered, scratching the back of her head.  “I suppose you make a fair point.  When?”

            “Tomorrow night?”

            “Very well.  Until then, Trevelyan.”  Cassandra pulled herself straight and nodded curtly before turning on her heel and marching out of the enclosure.

            When told the story some weeks later, Sera fell out of her chair and laughed for ten solid minutes.


	3. Josephine

**Chapter 3: Josephine**

            Evelyn leaned against the stone, enjoying the tight chill of the mountain air in her lungs after a long day spent in the still-musty war room.  The last week still weighed heavily upon her, a hot, dull ache in the hollow of her chest that flared into shredding guilt and self-loathing at the slightest disturbance, but the cool silence of the deserted hallway seemed to help.  There was a gaping rift in the stonework, the damage of time and abandonment that left a sweeping view of the Frostbacks laid out before her feet.

            Skyhold really was a wonder to behold, even covered in rashvine and filled with feral vermin.  They would be safe here.  Those who were left, at least.

            “Inquisitor Trevelyan?”  Evelyn turned toward the sound of the voice, soft and tentative.

            “Lady Montilyet,” she replied, managing to summon a small smile before bowing slightly, reaching for the lady’s hand and kissing the knuckles as custom demanded.

            “You really must call me Josephine, Your Worship.  I only make people with whom I am displeased address me by my family name.”

            “Then you must call me Evelyn.  ‘Inquisitor’ is still far too stiff for such lovely company.”  Josephine blushed very prettily, light, dusky red spreading over her cheeks.  Evelyn’s smile widened when she glanced away almost shyly.  “Did you require my assistance with anything, or is this a social call?”

            “I...social, I suppose,” Josephine replied, shuffling the stack of missives she carried to her other arm.  “I was just...I wanted to make sure you were feeling well.  The journey from Haven was difficult for everyone, but none so much as it was for you.  I’m ashamed to admit it, but I’ve been having the servants keep an eye on you and not a one of them has seen you take to your quarters since we arrived.”

            Evelyn tensed, fumbling for an excuse she had yet to use in her defense.  The moment of silence was answer enough and Josephine smiled sadly as she took a step closer, reaching out to lay a comforting hand on Evelyn’s arm.

            “Perhaps I could accompany you there now?  I managed to acquire a few appointments from the Free Marches I think will make you feel more at home than you did at Haven.  It’s still just as cold, though, I’m afraid.”

            Evelyn chuckled slightly, more relieved than she wanted to admit at the prospect of facing her ill-gotten gains with some backup.  “Surely you must have more important things to attend than a mangy Marcher who’s too stubborn to sleep.”

            “None more important than the health and comfort of a dear friend,” Josephine replied firmly, slipping the hand to the crook of Evelyn’s elbow and leading the way back through the keep.

***

            “And then they started... _you know_...right there on the parlor floor!  In front of _everyone_ at the soiree!  I mean, who _does_ that?”

            Evelyn very nearly spat out the mouthful of port she had just sipped, sputtering out a coughing, choking laugh at the story’s conclusion.  Josephine bit down on her bottom lip in an effort to quell her own laughter at the sound, resting her glass on the side table before turning to pat Evelyn soundly on the back.

            “I’m sorry.”

            “You’re not,” Evelyn countered with a grin.  “You were clearly waiting for that set up, my lady.”

            “Your insinuation is _shocking_ ,” Josephine replied in a huff that was somewhat diminished by her red cheeked smirk.  Evelyn laughed again, relishing the easy warmth of wine and conversation.

            “Maker, this feels good.  Like everything might almost be normal again someday.”

            “It will be, Evelyn.”  Josephine’s expression sobered slightly as she shifted a little closer, resting a comforting hand on Evelyn’s shoulder.  “We’re doing good work here.  _You’re_ doing good work.  You deserve a moment to rest.”

            At this distance, Evelyn began to notice the subtle marks of stress and exhaustion that were almost hidden on Josephine’s face.  The too-sharp line of her cheekbone, carved out by hunger. The dark circles beneath her eyes.  The faintest echoes of emptiness within them that all victims of trauma could never fully erase.

            “You do as well,” Evelyn replied through the rush of crawling guilt, brushing the back of her hand against Josephine’s cheek without thinking.  “I’ve asked too much of all of you lately.  I don’t think I can apologize enough.”

            “It would fall upon deaf ears.  We would follow you to the edge of the Void, all of us.  I would...”  She trailed off, turning her face ever so slightly into the gesture.  The firelight flickered golden in her wide, dark eyes, glowed warm upon the soft lines of her face.  Evelyn swallowed hard when her gaze fell steadily to Evelyn’s mouth.

            “I don’t know what this is,” Josephine admitted quietly, glancing back up to meet Evelyn’s eyes.

            “It needn’t be more than this.”  Evelyn reached slowly, _slowly_ to cup the back of Josephine’s neck, dragging her thumb along the line of the jaw.  “Respite from the weight of duty, if only ‘til the morning.  A moment of comfort shared with a trusted friend.”

            “I think I would like that very much,” Josephine breathed, eyes drifting closed as she leaned forward into Evelyn’s embrace.  The kiss was soft, slow.  It warmed Evelyn right down to her bones.

            Josephine’s hands slid into her hair, tugging slightly.  It was all so _good_ , the seamless deepening of it all, the swipe of Josephine’s tongue across her bottom lip, that Evelyn didn’t notice what was happening for many minutes.  It wasn’t until she felt her head being pressed downward, tilted in slight, precise ways that it became clear. Josephine was directing, as subtly and surely as her management of affairs of state.  After what felt like months of the ceaseless trials of leadership, Evelyn gladly allowed herself to be led.

            Her skin smelled of perfume and parchment dust, soft and hot beneath Evelyn’s mouth.  The sounds she made were low and liquid, a breath, a sigh, a groan when she found the angle and pressure especially pleasing.  She leaned back against the couch, pulling Evelyn’s body atop her own.  Evelyn let her hands play over the silk of Josephine’s shirt, able to feel every dip and curve beneath it, but not a single button.

            “Why must you wear so many layers?” she growled in Josephine’s neck, pulling back to undo the intricate sash around her waist.  Josephine laughed breathily as she propped herself up on her elbows.  “I wish I could say it’s some elaborate trial for my lovers to prove their worth, but really I’m just _freezing_ all the time.”

            “I trust that won’t be a problem for the moment, at least,” Evelyn said with a wink, almost crowing with delight when she finally reached Josephine’s skin.  She stroked her hand over it and felt the shuddering play of muscle beneath it, grinning to herself as she leaned down and lowered her mouth.  Josephine rolled her hips up into the touch, tightened her grip in Evelyn’s hair.

            Up close, the buttons of her trousers were much easier to find.  She slid them out slowly, one by one, until she created enough space to work with.  Kissed down over the new stretch of skin, sinking into the taste of salt and the unmistakable scent of a woman’s lust.  Pressed forward with her hand until she found what she was seeking, so soft and willing and _wet_ that–

***

            “That is _quite_ enough of that.”

            “You’re the one who asked for details,” Evelyn wheezed in protest, choking on the words when the rope tightened further around her throat.

            “I hope I won’t have to impress upon you the seriousness of your position _again_ , Inquisitor,” Leliana said behind her in a low, dangerous voice.  “Josephine is a very dear friend and I will not allow her heart to be trifled about with such carelessness, even by you.”

            “There was no trifling, none at all!”  Evelyn’s vision started to tunnel as she struggled for breath, kicking out weakly against the ground.  The pressure slackened by a measure and she gasped in a sweet, full breath of stale air.

            “Then what was that night to you?”

            “A wonderful experience with a treasured friend!”

            “Will you attempt to repeat it without a formal declaration of your romantic intentions worthy of a lady of her standing?”

            “Not if this is what it gets me!”  The rope tightened sharply.  “Kidding, kidding, _Makerstopplease_.”  She coughed when the slackened enough to breathe again.  “I won’t.  I promise.”

            “Good.”  The pressure abated entirely and Evelyn doubled over, clutching at the deep bruise already forming across her neck.  She glanced upwards when she felt a friendly pat upon her shoulder.

            “I trust you will remember that promise, or I will ensure that your life ends in the same moment as your usefulness,” Leliana said with a smile before walking out of the room.


	4. Harding

**Chapter 4: Harding**

            Evelyn leaned back and _laughed_  as Cullen scurried away from the card table, naked as the day he was born.  The whole damn night had been  _hilarious_ but that really took the cake.  She wobbled dangerously on the bench, breaking off into a yelp as the ground shifted under her seat and she started to fall.

            “Whoa, there!”  Two small, solid hands braced against her lower back, sliding around her waist as she settled back on the seat.

            “Harding!” she cheered when the square, smiling, slightly blurry face came into focus beside her.  “Always saving the day.  You’re the best.  _You_ should be the Inquisitor!”

            “I don’t know about that, ma’am,” Harding chuckled, patting Evelyn awkwardly on the forearm before sitting down beside her.  “Pretty sure I couldn’t handle a whole Inquisition as well as you have.”

            “Psh. What Inquisition have you been watching?” Evelyn scoffed, sobriety souring in the back of her throat.  Easily remedied, she thought to herself as she started to swipe at the bottle of brandy that remained curiously rooted to the table even though it appeared to be well within her reach.  “I’ve done nothing but get half my people killed by a fucking horror from before time began and made a bloody fool of myself at Halamshiral.”

             “You did all you could at Haven, Your Worship,” Harding scolded gently, grabbing hold of the untenable brandy and dribbling a little into Evelyn’s emptied mug.  “And, let’s face it, the only people the Orlesians don’t make look like fools are other Orlesians.  And that’s only because they were foolish looking to start with.”

            Evelyn laughed drunkenly and threw back the liquor back too fast.  “Stop with the Worship shite, Lieutenant.  Drinking friends have to call me by a real name.”

            “Trevelyan?”  Harding eyed her curiously, taking a sip out of the bottle herself.  Evelyn shook her head, blinking through the sudden onset of dizziness.  “Evelyn.  Or You Tosser.  I respond well to that one, too.”

            “Evelyn’s kind of lovely, actually.”  Harding flushed deeply, shooting tense as the words escaped.  “I mean the name!  Evelyn’s a lovely name.”  Evelyn laughed again, leaning heavily into Harding with her shoulder.

            “You are too bloody _cute_.  Look at those freckles.” she crowed.  Harding’s cheek was hot and soft beneath her fingertips.  “What do your friends call _you_?”

            “Harding, mostly,” came the strangled reply.  “My given name is a little well...un-soldierly.”

            “Well now you _have_ to tell me,” Evelyn grinned, plucking the bottle from Harding’s grasp and tipping it back.  Her mouth stung with the taste of it, but her shirt suddenly felt heavy and wet.

            “Oops,” she giggled, swiping in vain over her chest.  “I think I missed.”

            “Just a little.”  Harding brushed a little liquor off her own shoulder, looking as though she were caught between terror and amusement.  Evelyn stared rather dumbly as she licked the remains from her fingers.  “Pity.  That was a really good vintage.”

            “I’ll get you another.  I can do that, I’m the Inquisitor.”

            “That you are, ma’am,” Harding said with a smile just a little too bright to be indulgent.  She waved over one of the barmaids and started to arrange for a servant to take Evelyn back to the keep.

            “ _No_ ,” Evelyn whined, flopping her head over on Harding’s damp shoulder.  “Too drunk.  Too many stairs.  You have to help me or they’ll make fun of me _forever_.”

            “Forever, huh?”  Harding helped Evelyn to her feet, where she was terribly pleased to find Harding’s shoulders at the perfect height to lean on.  “I suppose that would undermine the chain of command a bit.  Guess I can give you a hand to maintain law and order.”

            “Yay!” Evelyn leaned down and pressed a sloppy kiss to Harding’s temple.  “There’s better booze in my cabinet, anyways.  S’go!”

***

            “I shouldn’ta let you talk me into that fourth one,” Harding slurred, grinning over at Evelyn from the other side of the couch.

            “You are a lightweight,” Evelyn declared in retort, swallowing the last of her seventh glass.  Possibly ninth.  Definitely one of the two.

            “I’m a dwarf!  M’like half your size.”

            “Are you calling me fat?” Evelyn gasped in mock outrage, clutching at her chest before laughing uproariously at her own hilarity.  She slid off the couch and landed on the stone floor with a _thump_.

            “No, no, no,” Harding protested, jerking unevenly to her feet only to trip over Evelyn’s.   She yelped as she stumbled forward, landing hard on her knees, astride Evelyn’s middle.  “Ouch.”

            “No kidding,” Evelyn snorted, reaching up as Harding’s reddened face swam in and out of focus.  “Alright there?”

            Harding leaned her weight down on her hands, flat against the stone beside Evelyn’s head.  Her eyes were suddenly and surely focused, clear grey and steel sharp.

            “I’m fine,” she said, voice low and steady as she raked her eyes over Evelyn’s body.  “And you’re beautiful.”

            “Come off it,” Evelyn scoffed weakly, flushed and shy as a bloody school girl under the look.  Harding shook her head.  Leaned further down.

            “I won’t.  You’ve taken my breath away from the first moment I saw you.  You’re larger than life out there in the field, but now that I’ve seen you here I can’t believe you’re just as amazing.  You’re a real person, and you’re _gorgeous_ , and it’s completely terrifying.”

            Evelyn shuddered, eyes falling closed at the first whisper of breath against her neck.

            “Maker,” Harding mumbled into the skin.  “The things I’d do to you if I could.”

            “What’s stopping you?”  Evelyn almost frowned at the sound of her own voice, thin and needy in a way she wasn’t proud of.

            “You’re with someone.”

            “ _What_?”  Well.  That was news to Evelyn.

            Harding pulled back slightly, confused.  “You’re with Sera, aren’t you?  I see you with her whenever I’m here for supplies.  You’re usually throwing stuff off the roof of the tavern, but still.”

            Laughter bubbled up from Evelyn’s chest.  “She’s my best mate!  Sure, we’ve rolled around once or twice but she’s been all over that big, blonde Templar lass from Tantervale for at least a month now.  Maker knows why; I’m rather intimidated, personally, but the girl’s got a thing for upper body strength–”

            “So you’re saying you’re not seeing anyone?” Harding interrupted.  Evelyn just grinned unevenly.  “You’re not seeing anyone and...you like me?”

            “Rather a lot, you adorable prat.  I knew I should’ve flirted harder.”

            “So I could kiss you?”

            “I should say s–” Harding surged downward, the press of her mouth hot and sweet and perfect against Evelyn’s own.

            “And I’m not taking advantage or anything, right?” Harding panted when she pulled back.  “I mean, I’m pretty drunk but you’re _really_ drunk and–”

            “I’m perfectly able to understand my own decisions,” Evelyn growled, grabbing a fistful of Harding’s jerkin.  “Are you?”

            “ _Fuck_ , yes.”  Harding wrapped one hand around Evelyn’s and rocked back onto her heels, pulling them all the way to sitting with the other hand tangled roughly in Evelyn’s hair.  “We’re going to the bed, though.  There’s still a pretty good chance that this is all just an elaborate fantasy, but on the off chance this is actually happening I want to do it right.”

            “Yes, _ma’am_ ,” Evelyn replied in a lazy drawl.

            Harding wasn’t tall but she was _strong,_ muscling Evelyn down on the bed like it was nothing.  There was an edge to her grin that seemed to sharpen the details floating in and out of the alcoholic haze, the rasp of her calloused fingers against the wool of Evelyn’s jerkin, the glint of firelight through the wisps of hair escaped from the tight regulation braid, the scrape of her teeth against Evelyn’s neck.

            “My word, you made quick work of that,” Evelyn panted when she was jerked back up to sitting, laughing slightly when the coat was shoved down her shoulders and tossed across the room.

            “Not my first round up, sweetheart,” Harding replied, stripping off Evelyn’s shirt with the same ruthless efficiency before shifting her focus down to the breeches.  Evelyn canted her hips up to help only to have the hand she braced behind her slip across the bedding, sending her crashing over in another fit of drunken laughter.  She broke off with a hitch of breath when she felt a hand low on her bare stomach, the bone and muscle of a shoulder beneath her knee.

            The first touch was surprisingly gentle, the swipe of her thumb and press of her fingers as her mouth lingered over Evelyn’s hip.  Gentle and _thorough_ , never stopping long enough to settle into a pattern.  Evelyn managed to prop herself up on one elbow long enough to meet Harding’s eyes, to see the keen satisfaction of discovery flicker across them before her world devolved into twisting and pressure and _screaming_.

            It was incredible, being touched in just the right way without a single word of direction.   Held down and completely unable to control the pace of it, with no desire to do anything but _submit_ to the pleasure of it all.  Through the delirium of Harding’s tongue sliding down against her, Evelyn began to think that full clairvoyance was the only possible cause of such skill.

            She threw her head back against the mattress, biting her lip until it bled as the world began to go white.  In the end all it took was a single, clear second of sensation, the curling drag of friction inside, the slick, muscular _suction_ and Evelyn’s eyes rolled back, head spinning, ears ringing, skin on fire.  Then nothing.

            Movement brought the return of awareness.  She opened her eyes to see that Harding had crawled up over her, looking halfway between concerned and deeply smug.  Sex and brandy on her breath, she leaned down and pushed the taste of it into Evelyn’s mouth as she reached out for Evelyn’s hands.

            “I’m not anywhere near done with you yet,” she breathed against Evelyn’s mouth as she pinned her wrists above her head, and Evelyn’s whole body shuddered in anticipation.

***

            For a blessed moment, Evelyn woke to the warm, loose-limbed sense of half awareness that only a great deal of rather spectacular sex could provide.  The smell of it was still on the air, twisting in and out of the shallow waves of embers and souring wine.  She stretched back against the bed, breathed in the last traces of damp earth and leather clinging to the linens, felt her heart begin to pound in her chest at the memory already beginning to solidify.

            Then the headache hit.

            “Oh, _sweet Maker_ ,” she whimpered, curling into herself and clutching hopeless at her head.  This was how she was going to die; Corypheus be damned.

            She cracked one eye open, instantly regretting it in the onslaught of mid-morning light.  It took a few unsteady minutes for the room to un-blur around her, but when it did she was a little dismayed to find herself alone.

            She struggled to push herself to sitting back against the headboard, only managing to succeed after several more pitiful minutes filled with increasingly vitriolic curses on the day she was born.  Once vertical, something caught the corner of her eye.

            There was a flask on the nightstand, clear glass filled with the thick, murky red of an elfroot draught.  Underneath it was a scrap of parchment, covered with an earnest scrawl of words that would refuse to leave Evelyn’s waking thoughts for months.

_Evelyn,_

_~~I don’t think I’ve really left one of these before~~ _ ~~~~

_~~Last night was the most incredible~~ _

_~~Maker that sounded ridiculous get it together Harding~~ _

_Thank you.  For everything.  We had to leave for the Western Approach this morning.  See you when I get back?_

_Oh, and because I owe you a name, here you go._

_~~Best~~ _

_~~Yours~~ _

_Best,_

_Lace Harding_


	5. Evelyn

**Chapter 5: Evelyn**

            “Oi, Evie!  Drop!”

            It was only months of active conditioning and, loathe as she was to admit it, Cassandra’s relentless drills that allowed Evelyn to collapse her knees without a conscious thought.  The arrow sang close enough to the back of her neck that she could feel it slicing through the air, piercing through the demon’s hollowed eye socket with wet sucking sound.  It shrieked above her head, dissolving into gritty green light that billowed up toward the rift.

            Evelyn reached up from her position on the ground, closing her eyes as the anchor thrumming in her hand slipped and locked in with the tear.  It always felt like obsidian in her mind, sharp edged and glassy until the twist of her wrist ground the molten wound back together and sealed it in a rush of sulfur and ancient magic.

            She sighed in relief, leaning forward on her arms only to be smacked _hard_ across the back of her head.

            “What the arse was that?” Sera demanded, dragging Evelyn to her feet and punching her in the shoulder.  “Two bloody weeks after crossing off the granddaddy of all scary demon things and you’re getting your head taken off by one of the little slimy ones?  What the _ruddy frig_ , Evie?”

            “You _are_ pretty far off your game, boss,” Bull added in agreement as he came up behind Sera.  “What’s eating you?”

            “I believe the real question is what’s _not_ eating her,” Dorian chimed in with a waggle of his eyebrows.  “And not so much a ‘what’ as a ‘whom’.  I do believe our dear Inquisitor is _pining_.”

            “Pining?  What’s that, some bed thing?”  Sera slung her bow over her shoulder and regarded Evelyn with incredulity.  “You’re this rotten because you’ve not been laid enough, you twat?  Piss, I’ll take you behind that bush right now if it’ll keep all our heads still on our shoulders.”

            Evelyn yelped in surprise when Sera grabbed her by the scruff of the neck and started to drag her in the direction of the aforementioned underbrush, only to be bodily interrupted by Dorian.

            “As enjoyable as that might be to pretend not to hear, I’m afraid that won’t actually solve the problem.”  He brushed off Sera’s hand and came around to face Evelyn, resettling the cuirass across her shoulders with a smirk.  “Lady Trevelyan here is wanting of the affections of one woman in particular.  A certain...vertically challenged scout if I am not mistaken.”

            Evelyn felt her face go bright red, opening and closing her mouth in stumbling search of words that could in any way salvage her dignity.  Sera frowned, visibly scouring her memory for anyone who fit Dorian’s description.  Bull just threw back his head and laughed.

            “Harding?  _Nice_.  She’s sharp.”

            “Wait, wait, wait; the ginger dwarf you always chat up when we go someplace new?”  Sera leered and hit Evelyn’s shoulder again.  “ _Woof_.  Not a bad visual, that.”

            “No, I...I,” Evelyn made a frantic noise and ran a hand through her hair, withering under the three equally expectant looks.  “I can’t stop thinking about her, alright?  Leave me alone!”

            “What’s the hang up, prat?” Sera asked cheerfully, completely ruining the act of storming away by leaping on Evelyn’s back from a nearby boulder.  She may have weighed less than most of the trail packs Evelyn had used as a child, but she had the grip of a barnacle.  “You’ve not had _lady problems_ since I’ve known you.”

            “Seriously,” Bull concurred solemnly as he and Dorian followed their progression down the hillside.  “You’re legendary.  Is there a girl in our crew you _haven’t_ had yet?”

            “Several!” Evelyn protested shrilly.  “Vivienne could be my mum, for Andraste’s sake!  And Leliana is one, _completely terrifying_ , and two, married to the Hero of bloody Ferelden.  And it doesn’t even matter because we’ve already–” She cut herself off abruptly, biting down on her tongue and edging ever closer to complete combustion.

            “I want more with her.”

            “How gut-wrenchingly adorable,” Dorian laughed.  “A slayer of dragons, hunter of demons and Champion of the Blessed Andraste herself is cowed by her own _feelings_.”

            “I am _not_!” Evelyn snarled, trying and once again failing to throw Sera off her shoulders.  “I just don’t know what to do about it.  Courtship is not exactly one of my strengths.”

            “Well you’d better do something, because you’re friggin’ terrible now,” Sera responded smartly, pinching the back of Evelyn’s neck before swinging herself back down to the ground by one of Evelyn’s pauldrons.  “Seen drunken squirelings handle a sword with more finesse.”

            “Just ask the other girls what they liked, what they didn’t,” Bull offered with a hearty slap on the back.  “Hone that game and she’ll come running.”

            “Ooh, yeah!” Sera agreed.  “There was this thing you did with your tongue that–”

            “Hold that thought, Sera dear,” Dorian interrupted with a look of dawning glee.  “I think we first need to know why _Cassandra_ wasn’t on that list of the unconquered...”

***

            They were _useless_.  Every last one of them.

            Sera suggested starting by getting rid of ‘that stupid floppy noble-y haircut’ and proceeded to chase her around the bailey with a knife, cackling all the while.

            Josephine had squealed with delight and declared it like something out of her favorite series of books before launching into the creation of an elaborate plan for Evelyn to demonstrate her feelings through a series of sophisticated gestures that Evelyn did not _begin_ to comprehend.

            Cassandra had recommended proceeding with poetry, if ‘recommended’ could be taken from the hurling of a large tome of it at Evelyn’s head for bringing up The Night That Shall Not Be Mentioned Ever Again.

            Evelyn sighed deeply and tipped her head back, pinching the bridge of her nose.  She wondered if it might be wise to have a drink, if only to wind down for a moment, but the mere thought of wine still brought on a revolting rush of nausea.

            “You’re being ridiculous,” she told the empty room, knocking her head back against the headboard.  “You literally have the fate of the entire world resting on your shoulders and you’ve gone and gotten yourself tied in knots over a _girl_.”

            Ridiculous, she thought firmly.  She simply hadn’t the time or energy to spare on it, so she wasn’t going to.  As of that moment, she would no longer be thinking about the shape of her mouth.  Or the sound of her voice.  Or all the ways she said Evelyn’s name–

            “Stop it,” she hissed at herself, squirming at the first prickling of anticipation underneath her skin.  She was a grown woman in full control of her mental faculties and she was going to _stop thinking about this_.  There were a thousand reports to read and another thousand trade agreements to go over, so she was just going to move the note from the top of the pile of paperwork and not dwell at all on the charmingly precise handwriting or the hands that made it.

            Especially not how those hands had felt threaded through her hair, nails scraping lightly against her scalp, tugging not quite hard enough to hurt but just enough to center her focus on the mouth pressed against her neck, hot and sharp and possessive–

            “ _Maker’s breath_ ,” she whined plaintively, banging her head back against the wood again.  The thoughts had now not only driven her to complete distraction, but uncomfortable arousal as well.  The latter was certainly easy enough to deal with on one’s own, granted, but the combination of the two was so absurdly embarrassing that it bordered on physical pain.

            She opened her eyes and glanced around the room, noting the time on the dial by the window.  It _was_ a while yet until she was needed anywhere.  Surely the resolution of half the issue would ease the weight on her thoughts by at least a measure.  Maybe even more, if she was thorough enough.  There was nothing at all wrong with working off a little stress in the privacy of one’s own quarters, after all.  Nothing at all.

            “You are a grown woman, Evelyn,” she said aloud, rolling off the bed and walking to the door.  The lock slid closed with a satisfying _thunk_.  “Stop bloody justifying and take care of business.”

            She always felt so _awkward_ at the start of it, as unnerved at the feel of her own fingers on the skin as she was startled by the feel of the skin under the hand itself.   Settling back against the pillows, she tried to ignore how easy it was to move already and keep her mind blank.  This was physical release and nothing more; there was simply no need to involve anything mental.  No reason to think about other things that had happened on this bed.  No reason for the nearly-healed bruises on the inside of her thighs to start throbbing as the blood began to pound in earnest.

            The nothingness was broken in flashes, memory and fantasy vying for dominance.  Her hair in the firelight.  Nothing.  The smell of her skin, the sticky taste of salt and drying brandy.  Nothing.  Light glinting darkly across her eyes, a predator’s grin, the spine-deep satisfaction of being _filled_.  Nothing.  The ghost of words curling at the edge of the void, the echoes of hands on skin, of teeth and tongue and sensation sparking out across every inch she touched.  Maker, it was _good_ , it was so good and she was so close and–

            “ _Evieevieevie_!”  A body thumped against her closed door and she almost shrieked with surprise.  “Your door’s locked.  Why’s your door locked?”  The unmistakable sound of a lock pick’s tools began to click in the silence, and Evelyn barely managed to get her breeches refastened before Sera burst into the room.

            “You _are_ here!  Why didn’t you say anything?”  She tucked her tools back into her belt and narrowed her eyes suspiciously at Evelyn.  “Bet you were wanking.”

            “I was _not_!”  Evelyn winced at the sound of her own voice, high-pitched, breathless, and a complete giveaway.

            “Andraste, you so _were_ ,” Sera snorted, almost skipping over to Evelyn’s wardrobe.  “Whatever, though, right?  Come on, gotta get you prettied up.  On the double!”

            “What...”  Evelyn hardly knew where to begin.  Sera just grinned over her shoulder and pulled out Evelyn’s nicest jerkin.

            “Scouts are home, yeah?  Time to get the girl!”


	6. Lace

**Chapter 6: Lace**

            She’d meant what she said to Cullen.  It was better this way.  Too many people had already laid down their lives in her name.  Maker willing, the bulk of the forces wouldn’t even be back to the Frostbacks by the time she’d finished this.

            Bowing at the waist, she crossed both arms over her chest in the sign of fealty before taking a knee at the statue’s base.

            “So,” she started conversationally, watching the wax drip down the multitude of offering candles.  “It’s me again.  You know, Evelyn.  How are You?”  She laughed disparagingly at herself, swiping a shaking hand over her face.

            “I hope You’ll forgive me, my Lady.  You know I’ve always been rotten at this part.  I suspect You know already, but it seems that it’s all about to end again.  I’ve done my best, tried to be what they all thought I was.  I just wish...I wish I _knew_ , one way or the other.  Are You really up there?  Is He?  Did You choose me for this, or did I just bumble into it like I have with everything else in my life?”

            Her only answer was a still, holy silence.

            “Talkative as ever, I see,” she sighed.  “If You’re listening, there are a few things I hope You’ll do for me now.  Keep my friends safe, if You can.  Use me to keep the Breach from unraveling if You must, but please save them.  Help them keep this mess together afterwards, as well.  Watch over the soldiers on their way home.  Maybe keep a little closer watch on _my_ soldier, if You are actually taking requests.”

            The silence pressed down around her as she struggled to remember the words of the Chant.  “Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide.  I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond.  For there is...for there is...oh bugger, what is there?”

            “For there is no darkness in the Maker’s light,” a voice supplied behind her.  “And nothing He has wrought shall be lost.”  Evelyn let out a very undignified shriek at the interruption, leaping to her feet and flailing around the stiff edges of her too-new armor for the knife she kept in her belt.

            “It’s pretty funny that the Herald of Andraste can’t even recite the Trials, just so you know,” Harding chuckled from the doorway to the chapel, arms folded over her chest and a fond smile curling up the edge of mouth.

            “What are you _doing here_?” Evelyn hissed, heart dropping to the pit of her stomach.  “You should still be in the Wilds.”

            “Rode my poor horse almost into the ground,” Harding replied, smile faltering.  “Any one other than one of Dennett’s and it would’ve been all the way to the ground.  What’s wrong?”

            “What’s wrong?  _What’s wrong_?”  Evelyn ran a hand through her hair and started pacing.  “What’s wrong is the fucking world is _ending_ and you were supposed to be far away from here and safe!”

            “Ev,” Harding started gently, pushing off the door jamb with her shoulder.

            “Don’t ‘Ev’ me,” Evelyn snapped.  “You shouldn’t be here!  It was only ever supposed to be me.”

            “That was never going to happen, and you know it.”  There was a sureness to her voice that cut through the acid of rising panic.  It was firm, solid, _real_ as the grasp of her hand around Evelyn’s.  “Come sit down with me for a minute, alright?”

            Evelyn swallowed hard and nodded faintly, allowing herself to be lead to a stone bench in a shadowed corner of the garden.  The keep bustled around them, frantic in its preparation for the final push.  There were only a handful of them left behind from the assault on the Wilds, good men and women all, and they would be the first to die if she failed.

            “Look at me, Ev.”  She didn’t want to.  For once since this whole mess began, she wanted to let the terror of responsibility pull her under.   None of this should have happened, everyone should have known not to trust her from the first moment she picked up the damned orb onward, but they didn’t and now they were all going to die because of her, _because of_ _her_ –

            “Look.  At.  Me.”  More pressure around her hand, the scrape of nails on her skin just painful enough to make her to glance over and the thoughts stuttered.  The pull of the world outside was greater.  She never could look away from those eyes.

            “Let your advisers lock things down here.  The guards have mobilized and are clearing a path to the Temple.  There are enough archers for me to run a volley line to cover your entrance into the ruins.  You are going to keep your team close enough to watch your back and you are going to grind that evil bastard into the dirt.  Okay?”

            “Yes, ma’am,” Evelyn answered hoarsely, almost smiling at the clear, solid intelligence that she had never known Harding to be without.  Harding frowned, smacking Evelyn lightly on the shoulder.

            “Don’t ma’am me, you’re the Inquisitor.”

            “But you’re so commanding,” Evelyn countered with a weak smirk.  “Sets my girlish heart all aflutter.”  Harding grinned, surprised.

            “Bet you say that to all the girls.”

            “Just the ones who might follow through on that threat to leave me tied to the bed if I don’t come back from this in one piece.  What a terrible way that would be to spend eternity.”

            Harding laughed, genuine delight lighting up her face.  “Maker, I love you,” she sighed, expression shifting abruptly to complete horror as the words left her mouth.  “Oh, _shit._ ”

            Evelyn felt the shock of the revelation in the hollow of her chest.  “Lace...” she started to reply only to be cut off.

            “I was gonna do that better, I swear.  I had a whole speech and your favorite wine and–”

            “But I lo–” Harding’s hand clapped over her mouth unexpectedly, to which Evelyn managed only a muffled squeak of protest.

            “Don’t!  Have you read anything _ever_?  Dramatic declarations before the final showdown are a sure way to get you killed!”  Evelyn didn’t know whether she wanted to laugh or cry at the ridiculous timing of it all.

            “I have to go,” she said when Harding pulled her hand away.  Harding leaned over and kissed her, sweet and gentle and desperate.

            “I know,” came the reply, the weight of hope lying heavy and warm across the words.  “I know.”

***

            It was over.

            It was over and they _won_.

            And if someone didn’t let her out of this stupid party to check the barracks and the infirmary and every fucking square inch of space in between she was going to _kill them all_.

            “Why so tense, Your Inquisitorialness?” Varric asked through a mouthful of food as he came up behind where she was silently seething.  “This is your party.  You should be at least three-quarters of the way to drunk off your ass by this point in the evening.”

            “I would be,” Evelyn said through gritted teeth, “if someone would just give me _two minutes_ to find Harding.  If I have to smile and be polite at one more diplomat, I swear to the Maker...”

            “Calm down, I’m sure she’s fine.”  Evelyn spun towards him; a thousand variations on how Harding could possibly be the opposite of fine after an entire _mountain_ fell out of the sky on top of the reinforcements flashing behind her eyes when someone bumped into her shoulder, spilling a large flagon of mulled wine all over her jerkin.

            “Maker’s breath, Evelyn!  I’m _so sorry_ ,” Josephine exclaimed, jumping back and dropping the emptied mug on the table behind her.  “You must go clean up at once.  Half of the Council of Heralds is here and they simply _cannot_ abide anything less than immaculate dress on a head of state.”

            “Really, Josie?  I _must_?”  Evelyn sighed and made a half-hearted attempt to swipe off the fast-setting stain in the wool.  Josephine nodded vehemently and took to hurrying Evelyn toward the door to that lead to her quarters.  Evelyn caught a glimpse of a strange expression on her face before the door closed; a poorly smothered, very excited smile.

            “This would be how this night would go,” she muttered to herself as she started to peel out of the sodden fabric.  The shirt beneath it was equally ruined, and somehow managed to get tangled around her head as she pushed open the door to her bedchamber with her shoulder.

            “Andraste’s _tits_ ,” she swore as the bunched fabric caught in her mouth, spitting out the taste of cotton and salt as she hurled the clothing into the corner of the room.

            “Not quite, but arguably even better than.”

            Evelyn yelped and tried to cover herself, whipping around to confront the voice.  Harding was leaning against the side of the bed, clean and safe, with a faint cut scored across her cheek that looked as though it would heal into a rather dashing scar.

            “Hey, you,” she grinned at Evelyn.

            Evelyn was rooted to the floor, bare from the waist up and still buzzing with shock.

            “I love you,” she blurted out urgently.  Harding laughed.

            “C’mere and show me, then.”

            She took three long strides toward the bed only for Harding to use the momentum to flip her down onto the mattress.  “I feel like I should make some joke about victors and spoils,” Harding said and she pinned Evelyn’s hands down by her head.  “But I’m so damn happy you’re alive that I’ve got nothing.”

            “I spoiled you months ago, anyways,” Evelyn added helpfully, rolling her hips up into the pressure of Harding’s leg between her own.

            “That’s my girl,” Harding half laughed, half growled against Evelyn’s breast.  The moved against each other, groaning, sighing, _laughing_ at the sheer impossibility of being happy and alive and together again.  Each kiss was hard and messy, each slip of skin against skin too much to bear and not enough to stand all at the same time.  Evelyn’s breeches ripped down the seams under Harding’s hands.  Harding’s jerkin caught fire when Evelyn haphazardly tossed in on a nearby candle.

            After a while Evelyn could do nothing more than throw herself into the motion of it all, bucking her body up into every thrust against it.  The air was heavy and warm around them, thick with fresh sweat and mulling spices and the lingering sour char of scorched wool.  Evelyn’s world was filled with Harding, the taste of her skin, the flash of her eyes, weight of her body pressing down harder, harder, _harder_.  The drag of her teeth, the rumble of laughter in her chest, the heat and damp of her breath against Evelyn’s ear pleading for more.

            She was just so _glad_ , so immeasurably, impossibly _happy_.  Her legs were shaking with effort and pleasure, her back arching up off the mattress, and she roared over the edge with gasping laughter.  Harding followed with a shout not a moment later.

            They lay together in a heap of sweaty, delirious joy.  “Should we go back downstairs at some point?” Harding asked half-heartedly, nuzzling against Evelyn’s hair.

            Evelyn scoffed at the thought.  “Absolutely not.  You’ll be lucky if I let you even leave this bed before Summerday.”

            “What about all those Orlesian lordlings looking for an audience?”

            “Twats.  The lot of them.  Josephine has a much higher tolerance than I for that rubbish.”

            “Ah,” Harding agreed absently, drifting lazy kisses down Evelyn’s neck.  “What about all your well meaning, but historically impatient friends who smuggled me up here?”

            “Oh.”  Evelyn raised her head slightly, starting to pick up on the sounds of muffled voices and clumsy lock picking bleeding through the door.

            “Shit.”

**The End**

**Author's Note:**

> Whoops, forgot to add this on when I put this up! This piece is a series of connected one-shots that I came up with after my first (inordinately excited and largely intoxicated) playthrough of Inquisition. Rest assured there will be a hint of plot on the horizon, with more to follow in later works in this series. Happy Reading!


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